


Crumbs

by InkyLoey



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 01:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11173998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkyLoey/pseuds/InkyLoey
Summary: Sherlock works at a bakery which John loves to visit. Of course, John flirts with Sherlock and makes him fall for him. The only problem is that Sherlock won't really give in to his feelings because John is known to be a ruthless playboy. Though one day John leaves Sherlock a message that makes him rethink his decision.





	Crumbs

Sherlock watched the raindrops slide down the lean windows of his bakery, and sighed. Like the fool he was, he had forgotten to take an umbrella with him into the misty weather this morning and  
now he would get soaked on his way home. Oh joy.

Sherlock put a colourful tray of muffins onto the smooth marble counter, opened one of the bakery cases and started refilling  
the muffins. His bakery was known for its delicious muffins, so he usually had to refill the case at least twice a day. Some people actually came here for the muffins every day, like those two teenage girls, Nancy and Darcy, or a lovely old lady by the name of Mrs  
Hudgens. Oh, and John of course. 

He blushed at the thought of John's lingering look on him, the many times he had shot him a cheeky wink or had called him sweetheart. 

Suddenly, an image of his mother looking at him very disapprovingly came to his mind. Though he hated to admit it, he knew exactly why she was giving him that look. It was well known that John, aka Doctor John Hamish Watson, was quite the lady’s man. Just in bisexual form. In other words: he jumped from woman to woman or man to man. He made them feel special, and then he just dumped them the next day.

Sherlock didn’t know what was worse; the fact that John was such an excellent liar, that each one of those girls or boys thought he would change for them, or that specifically that character trait was what made him a lady’s man in the first place. No scratch that, Sherlock thought, the  
saddest thing was that he was one of those foolish boys. 

The familiar ringing of a bell, signalling someone's entrance to the shop, tore him from his train of thoughts.  
Sherlock mentally cursed as his gaze landed on the  
customer. It was John, of course it was bloody John. 

He was wearing his infamous leather jacket again, the leather jacket in which he looked like a god, the leather jacket that was tight around just the right places. It was also the leather jacket that had been wrapped around so many girls’ or boys' shoulders, and the one that would be carelessly flung into a random corner when he… Okay, Sherlock needed to stop  
thinking about this. 

John closed his raven black umbrella and deposited it in the umbrella stand.  
His hair looked gorgeous like always. It was short and relatively tidy, and apart from a few strains lingering on his forehead, it looked incredibly soft. Sherlock wondered if it felt soft, too.  
With enough confidence to make a person faint right at the spot, he walked into the shop. 

Sherlock adored the way it sounded when John's shoes made contact with the tiles, and how he scanned the room with his steady gaze. Though when his soft eyes finally landed on Sherlock, and a goofy grin appeared on his very much kissable lips, all Sherlock did was look down at his muffins and blush. He suddenly became hyper-aware of his surroundings, like the smell of freshly baked goods beginning to tickle his nose or the rain falling on the roof and the howling of the wind started to echo in his ears. 

“Morning, sweetheart.”

It was crazy how two simple words that left those kissable lips in a gruff voice, somehow managing to carry a certain lightheartedness with it, made Sherlock feel nauseous in the best kind of way. Or in the worst, he wasn't entirely sure about that.  
Anxiously, Sherlock cleared his throat. 

"Good morning,  
Dr Watson.” 

Sherlock quickly decided that it was probably better if he just kept his attention on his muffins, and continued to stare at them as he put them into the case.  
“Please, call me John, sweetheart.” Sherlock could feel his  
smile burning into the side of his face, and blushed even more.

"Of course, John. Do you want the usual?” Sherlock was surprised as to how calm and professional his voice sounded.  
He heard John chuckle deeply. It was like music to his ears. “No, as much as I love your legendary cupcakes, I want something else today.” He paused, like he was waiting for Sherlock to say something.

This time he wasn't surprised at himself, but at John. He had been visiting Sherlock's bakery for half a year now and he had never ordered anything else than one of his cupcakes with a black coffee to go along with. “Oh, really?” Sherlock said, trying his best not to sound bothered. “Well, then what can I give you today?”  
“Something that makes a lot of crumbs.” He requested proudly, like his words had just ended a war. Sherlock still hadn’t lifted his gaze from the cupcakes.  
He furrowed his brows and repeated skeptically,  
“Something that makes a lot of crumbs?”  
"Yes, something that makes a lot of crumbs,” John confirmed patiently with a small smile on his lips.  
Sherlock put the last muffin into the case and was now forced to look at his customer. Biting his lip, Sherlock asked, “Okay, do you have anything specific in mind?”  
Sherlock's heart almost exploded when John looked at him with those bright grey eyes and this charming smile. God damn you, John Watson, and god damn your good looks. 

His answer was immediate “No, nothing. Just give me something that makes a lot of crumbs and a cup of coffee, please.”  
Perplexed, Sherlock nodded and couldn’t help but notice that the tiny smile hadn’t left John's lips for the second he was observing him in. He gave Sherlock one last look, and then went to sit down  
on his usual table. It was the one in the corner, next to the houseplant (which Sherlock had nicknamed Jonathan), and right by the window.

It was also the one spot from which he had the best view on the  
counter. 

Thinking a bit more about John's strange request, Sherlock started to make John's coffee. What could John use crumbs for? Did he want Sherlock to have more work while cleaning up or was there another reason?  
Well, his smile didn’t look like he wanted Sherlock to have more work. But who knew? Looks were ever so often deceiving. 

Noticing that his apron was hanging somewhat loosely, Sherlock readjusted its strings in annoyance. He had had to throw his previous, beloved apron away because it had simply been too old and broken, so Sherlock had replaced it with the one he was currently wearing. But it just wasn’t the same as his old one, and maybe he was just imagining it, but his new apron always seemed to be out of place.  
Sherlock put the finished coffee on a small saucer and placed a couple of biscuits on a plate next to it. John wanted something that made a lot of crumbs, and biscuits certainly did that. 

Sherlock's eyes found John's in the exact second in which he picked up his order and Sherlock shakily made his way towards him. Sherlock began to tremble nervously under John's lingering gaze, and his knees felt like they would give way at any moment. It was making him uncomfortable, being watched so closely by someone so attractive. Sherlock was ready to just drop John's food on the floor and storm out of the bakery. Then he could just change his name and start a life as a shepherd in Italy. 

A voice, John's voice, tore Sherlock from his fantasies once again. Sherlock noticed that he was standing right at John's table and that John had a very amused expression on his face. Oh dear. Sherlock had spaced out for he didn’t know how long, but it must have been long enough for John to notice.  
Sherlock cleared his throat and said in a quiet voice,  
“Here is your order, sir.”  
He then put his food on the table and desperately tried to cover up his furious blush somehow, to no avail. John had already seen Sherlock's beetroot red face, it being hard to miss, and  
just grinned. Again. Apparently that man couldn’t do another facial expression than smiling, smirking, or grinning. That’s what made him so charming, after all.  
"Enjoy your meal,” Sherlock whispered embarrassedly and walked away to hide behind his counter for eternity. Sherlock didn’t catch John's expression this time, too busy fleeing the scene. 

Sherlock awkwardly walked past the counter and decided that he would rather be getting things in order in the back of the shop than enduring John's intoxicating presence. So that’s what Sherlock did.  
He opened the blue door with a round window towards the back of the shop and slipped through it.  
A pile of boxes on one side and the kitchen on the other side greeted him, bringing with them piles of work. Yay.  
Sherlock let out a frustrated groan as he buried his face in his hands and slid down the door. Why did he have to be so awkward and shy? And why did he have to like him? Him of all people.  
It was as though his mother had appeared in front of him again as he began to scold himself. 

'He is just playing with you, Sherlock!’ his mother said in Sherlock's mind. 'His lingering looks or silly nicknames mean nothing. He is just trying to get in you-’ Sherlock mentally cut her off. He didn’t need to hear anything else. He knew she was right and he knew that he was being extremely foolish, but Sherlock didn’t believe that he could help it.

Sherlock grunted, got up, and began distracting himself with a bit of work. He would hear the bell ring if a new customer were to arrive, though Sherlock doubted anyone would, considering the terrible weather outside.  
Sherlock had been correct. While he was busying himself with baking, no new customer had arrived, but he needed to go back behind the counter now anyway since he didn’t have anything else to do for the moment. With a quick glance at the clock that was hanging above the door, Sherlock left the room. Half an hour  
had passed, which meant that John had probably already left. 

Sherlock had been correct once again. John had left, but when he was about to clean John's table, Sherlock noticed something which made his heart leap. Next to a few creased pound notes acting as payment, there was a message. A message out of crumbs. Excitedly, Sherlock sat down and attempted to read the rather messy note. It read,  
“You look lovely in your new apron."


End file.
